Understanding Me

You all pretend to understand me–to sympathize with me. You all pretend to understand what I’m going through. You all pretend when telling me that I’m not dumb, that I’m a really sweet and happy person.

I’ve seen it. I’m done with it. I don’t even try to hide it anymore–the pain, that feeling of falling straight into an abyss of death every morning. I don’t try anymore.

Because you all laugh. You’re not aiming high in life are you? You think you’ll all get into Ivy Leagues so easily, or you don’t care.

Well the economy has fallen. And you all don’t seem to be noticing.

But I know. This is why everyone here is working harder, breaking under the pressure. It’s as if you’re all sluggish, meandering around. It’s as if we’re hurtling towards the goal, running without thinking.

No, you don’t understand. I doubt you ever will.

We’re all breaking or close to broken inside. Even me, with all my fake smiles and pretense of being happy. We’re all losing it with the increasing levels of stress and work.

They’ve talked about it before–how to remedy it, how to have us be happier. They didn’t have a solution because with everyone else nationally competing with us, we have no choice but to raise the bar higher.

So next time you say that “you understand how I feel”, please don’t. You don’t understand the enourmous workload I’m under. Whereas classes used to give 30 minutes of homework a night, it’s not an hour. Six classes makes six hours of homework. If I can go to sleep before 11, I am lucky. Because my life is chaotic and completely crazy.

But I know one thing.

You don’t understand me–never have and never will.

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